What It's All About
by Servant of Anubis
Summary: ONESHOT. America explains the meaning of Thanksgiving to England and France. Short.


I actually wrote this on Thanksgiving, but wasn't able to upload it until now. Hope you enjoy!

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England and France were fighting again. He could hear them from the other room, bickering over who knew what. It didn't really matter over what, really, because all of their fights quickly degenerated into name-calling. Already the well-worn 'wine freak' 'drunken pirate' 'tosser!' 'fairy boy!' exchange was happening, the volume steadily increasing until finally he was fed up.

"That's it!" he shouted, slamming open the door and storming over to them. He grabbed each of them by the wrist ('What the devil are you doing? Unhand me!' "Release me, you damn Yank!") and proceeded to drag them away, ignoring their demands for explanation. For a moment the two European countries put in a concerted effort to stop him, each digging in their heels and trying to wrench their hands free, but their combined strength didn't even slow him. England saw the closed door they were headed towards and hoped that he'd be the one released when the younger nation went to open it, but his hopes were dashed when the frightfully strong country simply kicked the door open, splintering the frame. France was struck with the strong impression that they might actually be in trouble.

America forcibly sat England down at the table, and slammed France into a chair across from him.

"Do you know what today is?" he demanded, arms crossed, shifting his glare to each of them in turn.

"Thursday?" England suggested.

"Ah, the twenty-sixth of November?" France tried in heavily accented English.

"Yeah, and?" America prompted.

They were silent. England felt like he ought to know the answer to this…

"It's Thanksgiving," the former colony stated.

France scoffed. "So? What do I care about your bigoted American holiday? I—" he tried to stand, and America shoved him back into his seat. France huffed, annoyed.

"Yeah, okay, ignoring the whole issue with Thanksgiving and the Native Americans, do you even know what Thanksgiving is about?" America asked.

"To commemorate the Puritans' assured survival of the coming winter," England answered, a little annoyed. "What does this have to do with us? It _is_ a purely American holiday, characterized by a truly American trait of gross overindulgence and commercialization and—"

"There's more to it than that," America said. "It's more than just stuffing yourself silly with Thanksgiving dinner or dealing with in-laws or playing football—my football," he clarified, seeing the brief confusion flit across France's face. "Above all else, Thanksgiving is a day to _be grateful for what you have_," he ended emphatically, leaning on the table.

"I'm grateful for being separated from _you_ by the entirety of the Atlantic," England grumbled under his breath.

"Oh, if only I could say the same about you," France sighed unhappily.

"What? _You _were the one who first suggested that we build the stupid Chunnel in the first place!"

"Had I known how desperate you English were for decent cooking, I would have never agreed to that disaster—"

"Disaster indeed! You built that god-forsaken _refugee camp_ right next to the bloody thing, so that all the immigrants_ you _couldn't be _bothered _to take in would sneak into _my_ country! Do you have any idea—"

"Enough!" American thundered, both countries breaking off from their argument abruptly. "You're missing the whole point! Try looking at what you have to be thankful for! You should be happy to have each other as neighbors; what if you had _Russia_ for a neighbor instead?" he finished loudly, overriding their complaints. They both cringed at the thought.

"See, exactly. I'm thankful for everything you guys did for me back when I was still starting out, even if it doesn't seem like it most of the time, even if it ended poorly," he said, with a glance at England. "I was hoping you could put aside your differences long enough to have dinner with me."

England and France fidgeted, self-conscious. America of all people should not be the one making them feel immature.

England spoke first. "Well, as long as he doesn't carry on about his perversions at the dinner table, I would be happy to join you for supper," he said diplomatically, with a sideways look at France.

France didn't take the bait. "Provided he doesn't try to force his disgusting cooking on me, I will brave your dinner party," he declared, slighting both of them at once. England opened his mouth to protest, but managed to hold his tongue.

America broke into a wide grin. "Awesome! That's the best I could hope for! I'll go get the turkey."

As America ran out of the room, France sniffed the air delicately. "Is that… smoke?"

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Reading up on the Chunnel and putting into a Hetalia perspective is hilarious...


End file.
